


Spectacles Long Thought Myth

by Wynn



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Adult Content, Adult Language, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - True Blood Fusion, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Awkward Flirting, Feels, Flirting, M/M, Romance, Viktor is a vampire, Viktor with a K, Yuuri can read minds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-24
Updated: 2017-11-24
Packaged: 2019-02-06 07:21:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12812499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wynn/pseuds/Wynn
Summary: Delightful name to the contrary, nothing good ever seemed to happen in Bon Temps, Hasetsu Province. Nothing bad ever happened either, not for the majority of the town, because nothing mucheverhappened in Bon Temps. Personal dramas served as the only spice of life in the town, the routine cycle of breakups and make-ups, of scandal and gossip, of births and deaths and the long, listless life that spanned the gap between. Most embraced their role as Kansas amid this new Land of Oz that had sprung up around them, the world recently dazzled by the reemergence of spectacles long thought myth, by vampires and werewolves and other, stranger things.Of course, those other, stranger things lived in Bon Temps too, and for them, the notion of a sleepy Southern town, listless and quiet, had always been the myth.For instance, in the town of Bon Temps, in a restaurant called Yutopia, in a dim corner of a dusty storage closet, Yuuri Katsuki crouches on the concrete floor, his head on his knees and his hands over his ears. As though that would help. As though it were merely voices that assaulted him right now and notthoughts.





	Spectacles Long Thought Myth

**Author's Note:**

> So I started this in May, have tinkered with it on and off since then, love what I’ve written too much to leave it as a permanent WIP, and finished what was intended to be the first part in a rush of inspiration last night. Now it’s a one-shot, but if it sparks interest in enough people, and if the muse proves willing, I’ll work on transforming the next planned chapter into a continuation.
> 
> On _True Blood_ , True Blood is the synthetic blood created for vampires to drink that allowed them to “come out of the coffin,” so to speak, and reveal themselves to human society as they no longer needed to drink human blood to survive. Kansas and Oz, of course, are references to _The Wizard of Oz_. There’s a lot of cursing in this fic because people can be real shit sometimes.

Spectacles Long Thought Myth

-

Delightful name to the contrary, nothing good ever seemed to happen in Bon Temps, Hasetsu Province. Nothing bad ever happened either, not for the majority of the town, because nothing much ever happened in Bon Temps. Personal dramas served as the only spice of life in the town, the routine cycle of breakups and make-ups, of scandal and gossip, of births and deaths and the long, listless life that spanned the gap between. Most embraced their role as Kansas amid this new Land of Oz that had sprung up around them, the world recently dazzled by the reemergence of spectacles long thought myth, by vampires and werewolves and other, stranger things. 

Of course, those other, stranger things lived in Bon Temps too, and for them, the notion of a sleepy Southern town, listless and quiet, had always been the myth.

For instance, in the town of Bon Temps, in a restaurant called Yutopia, in a dim corner of a dusty storage closet, Yuuri Katsuki crouches on the concrete floor, his head on his knees and his hands over his ears. As though that would help. As though it were merely voices that assaulted him right now and not _thoughts_.

_well goddamn gina I don’t know what the fuck you want me to do is he looking at me he’s looking at me oh god he is he is act natural act natural another fucking cheeseburger special four years of culinary school and all i do is this i see a little silhouetto of a man scaramouche scaramouche will you do the nasty asshole probably spit in my drink where is he where is he where is god i am tired i am so tired so very very tired where is he where i bet if i shoved my fork in your face you’d get my goddamn order right you fucking_

“Yuuri?”

Breathing in, Yuuri lifts his head to look at Minako. She stands in the open door. Yuuri can’t see her face, Minako backlit by the light from the hall and Yuuri sans glasses, but he can hear her distress loud and clear.

_shit shit shit he looks like shit_

“Thanks.”

It’s a testament to how awful he must really look that Mianko doesn’t even react to Yuuri reading her mind. Instead, she eases into the closet and kneels before him. “Here.”

Yuuri squints at her outstretched hands. She holds a bottle of water in one; he spies a tiny white pill on the palm of the other. “What is that?”

“I don’t know. Chris didn’t say. He just said that it would help.”

Yuuri asks nothing more. A sane person would, but Yuuri and sanity had parted ways long ago, about the time that he’d realized the other voices in his head were actually other people’s voices and not those from his overactive imagination. Sanity gone for Yuuri, desperation remains, strong enough to impel him to down whatever drink, pill, or powder Christophe concocted. If anyone knew how to help Yuuri, it would be him, a Cajun witch moonlighting most nights as Yutopia’s bartender.

Reaching out, Yuuri takes the pill. Minako unscrews the cap from the bottle of water and hands it to him, watching as Yuuri swallows the pill.

_how how how how much more can he take_

Yuuri winces at the thought and turns away.

There’s a second of silence before Minako sighs. “You heard that, didn’t you?”

“Sorry,” Yuuri says as he leans his head against the wall. “I’m trying not to.”

Minako lays a gentle hand on his knee. “I know you are. I just wish there was something more I could do.”

Yuuri huffs out a humorless laugh. “Yeah. Me too.”

Minako says nothing. She studies him instead, her brow furrowing with a question as the seconds pass. Yuuri knows what she wants to ask, but he won’t take the choice of saying it from her. He tries not to from anyone. It’s the least he can do for all the trouble he puts them through- Minako and Mari and Phichit, Yuuko and Nishigori, even Christophe the last couple of years. As he waits for Minako to speak, Yuuri lifts the bottle and drinks the rest of the water. He tries to focus on the action, on the feel of the water in his mouth, the splash and gurgle of it in his stomach, the crinkle of the bottle in his hand. Grounding himself, his mother called it, pulling himself out of the airy realm of mind and thought and planting himself in the tangible, in sight and smell and taste and touch.

Gradually, the world beyond the closet and its ever present noise fades, dulling to a tumult rather than a roar. When it does, Yuuri can’t help the sigh.

“It hasn’t been this bad for a while,” Minako says a few seconds later. “Has it?”

Yuuri shakes his head.

“Any ideas why it’s gotten worse?”

“I- I don’t think it’s me. I’ve been sleeping fine. I mean, as well as I usually do. And there hasn’t been any, you know, new stress. Just the usual.”

Minako reclaims the empty water bottle. “So it’s Bon Temps? It’s different somehow.”

“Maybe. I don’t know. I haven’t seen anything different. Or anyone. It’s just… a feeling.” 

Minako studies him again. To most everyone, save Phichit and Christophe perhaps, his claim of a feeling as proof of something wrong would be met with a sceptical arch of a brow, but not from Minako. Not with her past. She had never told him much, all he really knew was the one word, what she had become in Bon Temps and remained in the world at large until his parents died and she returned to care for him and Mari.

Hunter.

She knew better than anyone the dangers that lurked in the dark, and while most of those dangers had abated after the great reemergence, instincts died hard. So Yuuri braces himself, knowing what’s to come. He doesn’t even need to hear her think it. It’s a common refrain in the song of his life. At least this time she doesn’t make him wait long to hear it. 

“You should go home. Phichit can-”

Yuuri doesn’t bother restraining his sigh. “Phichit doesn’t work here. You can’t keep asking him to fill in for me.”

“Yuuri-”

Yuuri lifts his head from the wall. “No.”

“I-”

“No.”

They stare at each other. Beyond the door, down the hall, the noise in the restaurant picks up, the evening crowd buckling down for another Friday night. Yuuri can’t help the grimace, weekends always harder for him, the alcohol flowing more freely and loosening minds as well as tongues, but still he lifts his chin when Minako opens her mouth to speak.

“Is that what you want for me?” he asks. “For me to hide myself away my entire life? Because I’ve already done that. Years of being alone-” 

His voice breaks on the last word. Yuuri grits his teeth and turns away. He closes his eyes against the tears that threaten to fall and tries to will himself calm, but the thought still haunts him. So many years alone, just his parents and Mari in his life, school too much for him as a kid. People had trickled in slowly after that, Minako first and then Phichit- strange, wonderful Phichit, as unusual as Yuuri. Then Yuuko and Nishigori and Christophe now, as improbable as their friendship seems to others. But none of them fit that last gap within Yuuri, the aching maw that persists despite the love that surrounds him. If he didn’t remember his parents, if he didn’t see Yuuko and Nishigori near every day, if he didn’t watch stranger flirt at the bar or court over dinner and drinks in the restaurant, if he didn’t help coordinate wedding and anniversaries at The Marigold, then maybe Yuuri would be okay. But he does remember and he does see and he does watch and he does know. Yuuri knows love through all of them, but _only_ through them. Only ever through them.

At the thought, the breath hitches in his chest. Yuuri digs his hands into the fabric of his uniform pants. Why? Why could he do what he could do? What gods had he angered, what sins had he committed in a past life to deserve this? Telepathy bred distance, not intimacy. It fostered a conscious retreat from the world so as to respect its privacy, its dignity, thoughts precious even in their absurdity and barbarity. Who would want to be with someone who knew every stray thought that passed through their head? No one in Bon Temps, the whole town knowing about Freaky Yuuri and his weird, tragic life. Dead parents and nervous breakdowns. _that boy knows things he shouldn’t he’s possessed barbara i’m telling you satan has a hold of his soul_

The hand that soothes the top of his head feels so much like his mother that Yuuri has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from breaking down completely.

“I don’t want you to be alone,” Minako says to him now, her voice as soft as her hand. “I never have. I just worry about you, that’s all.”

Yuuri nods. He fumbles for her, finding her forearm after a moment and holding firm, hoping to convey in the clasp some of what he feels for her, for this, for everything she’s done for him and for Mari in the years since their parents died.

_i love you too pipsqueak now come on if you’re coming your tables await_

*

Two hours later, Yuuri leans against the bar as Christophe mixes the drinks requested for table five. Whatever he had given to Yuuri had turned the tumult of thoughts in his mind to a babble, to a constant murmur indistinct enough that Yuuri could work. He peers around the restaurant as he waits for Christophe to finish. His parents had first opened Yutopia when they moved to Bon Temps, mixing the clean lines of Japanese decorating with the French and rustic flourishes common to the province. The menu developed from a similar commingling of flavors, the expected burgers and fries beside the less expected ramen and sushi. More than once, Yuuri has marveled at Yutopia’s success, the restaurant thriving enough for his parents to open The Marigold shortly before they died. Now Mari ran the inn while Minako still oversaw the restaurant, Yuuri more comfortable with the short and simple exchanges that he experienced day to day as one of the waiters.

“Here you go, mon chou.”

Turning, Yuuri finds a tray laden with a pitcher of beer and frosted glasses on the bar before him. He looks up, locks eyes with Christophe, and sends him a soft smile. “Thank you.”

Christophe nods then studies him a moment. “You seem like you’re still doing well.”

Yuuri nods too. “It’s fading, but I’m okay. Thank you,” he adds after a beat. “Again. I really should-”

“No, you should not. The only payment I need is seeing your beautiful face every day.”

Yuuri quirks a brow. “I thought it was my ass in these pants?”

The question earns him a wink and a sly little grin. “That too.”

“What too?”

Both Christophe and Yuuri turn as Yuuko approaches. She stops beside Yuuri and sets her empty tray on the bar next to his.

Christophe tilts his chin in Yuuri’s direction. “Yuuri’s ass in those pants. That’s the only payment I need for assisting him with his cognitive quandaries.”

Nose wrinkling, Yuuko looks at Christophe. “You shouldn’t give him that stuff. It’s not safe.”

Christophe arches a brow. “Neither is alcohol, cherie, yet here it flows without stop. Besides, it’s Yuuri’s decision whether or not he takes what is offered. Not yours.”

Yuuko says nothing, at least not aloud. Her lips thin and Yuuri hears the retorts she composes in her head, the rants against the strange brews that Christophe concocts, part pharmaceutical, part mystical. Yuuri would know them even without hearing her, having borne witness to dozens of these disagreements between her and Christophe the past few years. At this point, he lets them bicker, both of them desiring the best for Yuuri, though their concept of what was best differed wildly. At least they desired the best, their thoughts, prickly as they could be towards each other, soft and soothing towards him, a far cry from the fierce tumult that raged both around and toward him most days.

“You want me to get that?” Yuuko asks as she gestures toward the tray for table five. 

Yuuri shakes his head. “I got it. But thanks.”

The smile that Yuuko sends him plucks at an old ache in his chest. She hadn’t been his first friend, Phichit had claimed that spot when Yuuri was eight and Phichit five, Phichit pitched out by his family the first time he had shapeshifted. But Yuuko had been the first Bon Temps native to treat Yuuri with kindness, to defend him when the other kids threw rocks as he walked by, to voluntarily spend time with him as they both studied with Minako. How could Yuuri not fall in love with her? She had never reciprocated, loving him first as a friend and then as the little brother she never had, choosing him as the ‘man of honor’ at her wedding to Nishigori, and time had tempered the sting of love inside him.

Maybe someday, he thinks, as he reaches for his tray to take to table five.

Maybe someday, he hopes, as, behind him, the door to Yutopia opens, and, for the first time in his life, the world goes absolutely quiet.

Yuuri still hears the music blaring from the jukebox, AC/DC by the sound of the wail. He still hears the sizzle of food on Nishigori’s grill. He hears the swish of the door as it closes once again and the rasp of breath into and out of his lungs as he struggles to breathe. But Yuuri hears nothing else. No one speaks, struck dumb by whoever came in. But more than that, what makes Yuuri gasp and clutch at the bar, what makes the laugh bubble up and out of him and blast the silence apart, is that he can’t hear anyone in his head.

The only thoughts that race through him are his own.

Yuuri laughs again. He turns to tell Yuuko, but she stares past him at the door, her eyes wide and face pale. He then looks at Christophe and finds him staring too, but with curiosity rather than fear. 

When Yuuri turns around, he understands why.

The man standing by the door is a vampire.

Calligraphy comes to mind as Yuuri stares, the man tall and clad in an impeccable black suit, his body an inky brushstroke elegant and poised. A shock of silver hair falls before one eye; the other shines like Arctic ice, blue and bright. The man’s already looking past Yuuri, finishing his sweep of the restaurant, of the patrons gawking at him and of the decor. He heads for the empty booth three down from the door. As he does, sound creeps back into the world around Yuuri, the buzz of conversation and the torrent of thought rising in pitch and hysteria with each step the man takes away.

Yuuri follows. Yuuko reaches for him as he steps from the bar, but Yuuri evades her grasp in a smooth sidestep that would make Minako proud. He understands her worry, but he can’t feel the same, the disappearing quiet more seductive than any food ever placed before poor Tantalus in the underworld. 

At the booth, the man stops. He spins in an elegant bass clef and eases down to sit, and when he does, now facing Yuuri, their eyes meet. The man goes still, and the world… the world again recedes from Yuuri. He lurches in the quiet like a fish on land, he revels in the growing lack like a dog in the grass, drawn inexorably toward the man and the siren silence.

At the booth, he stops. Here he hears only himself. Yuuri closes his eyes and basks in the hush, trembling, euphoric, another laugh bubbling up and out of him as champagne in a glass. 

“Yuuri…”

Another calligraphic stroke, his name unfurling luxurious and slow from this man’s lips, curling to a delicate chime at the end. Yuuri shivers at the sound. His eyes flutter open. The man stares up at him, one corner of his mouth curved into a smile. And it’s so easy to return the smile. Yuuri never knew it could be so easy, but it is with the world devoid of thought and comprised solely of him and this man and their burgeoning smiles.

“Hi,” he says. “Welcome to Yutopia.”

The man leans back in the booth, his smile becoming a grin. “Thank you.”

“What, uh, what can I get for you? We have some True Blood. Only O-positive though.”

“That’s good to know. But tonight I’d like a glass of wine. Red, preferably.”

Yuuri nods. He catches shades of an accent in the rich tones of the man’s voice. Maybe Eastern European. “What kind would you like?”

The man raises a hand to his mouth and taps a finger against his lips. He lowers it a few seconds later and sends Yuuri another smile, one that elicits another shiver. “Surprise me.”

Yuuri nods again. He should turn now, walk back to the bar and place the order, but he lingers by the table, rendered frozen the man’s wicked smile and his holy silence. He lingers long enough to justify a raised brow or a downturned mouth, but the man does neither. He simply sits and stares, seemingly as content to take Yuuri in as Yuuri is to remain beside him. That thought works where the drink order did not. Yuuri jerks back from the booth and turns for the bar, his face beginning to flush under the man’s appraising stare, but he stops after two steps, hovering at the precipice of the din. He sees Yuuko and Christophe watching, their concern clear in their eyes. He sees no concern from the others who gawk, only curiosity and confusion in them, or pity and disgust. 

Breathing in, Yuuri braces himself and crosses the threshold.

_what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck is that a vampire it is it is holy shit fucking fangers no place is safe oh god is yuuri okay is he going to damn he’s hot always knew katsuki was a freak smiling at the goddamn mon dieu i think he’s going to faint did he whammy katsuki shit it’d be so hot if they made out maybe i could fucking fangers freak katsuki a vampire a fucking vampire this place is going to the_

The onslaught nearly buckles his knees. Gritting his teeth again, Yuuri keeps his eyes focused on the bar, on Yuuko and Christophe. Only six more feet to go. He can make it. Six. _is he going to puke_ Five. Yuuko worries her hands in a knot at her waist. Christophe peers past him at the man. _gotta get me some garlic tonight_ Yuuri swallows and continues forward. Four. _breathe just breathe you can do it you can fucking shit would he bite me if I asked_

At that, Yuuri stumbles. Yuuko darts forward to steady him, and they stagger the rest of the way to the bar. Yuuri just barely resists the urge to collapse over it, to bury his head in his hands and cry. Instead, he draws in a slow, slow breath and grits out, “Wine. Red.”

No one moves. Yuuko and Christophe share a glance. Over their shoulders, Yuuri sees Nishigori appear in the door to the kitchen.

Yuuko looks back at him. “Yuuri-”

“He makes the thoughts stop.”

Yuuko blinks at that. Nishigori goes still. Christophe, though, turns and heads back down the bar. He snags a wine glass from the shelves before pulling a bottle of cabernet from the rack. Deftly, he uncorks the bottle and pours. He doesn’t immediately return to Yuuri once finished though. Rather, he pulls down another glass and fills it with water then he brings both glasses to the bar and sets them before Yuuri.

“Here,” Christophe says as he reaches for Yuuri’s long abandoned tray for table five. “Take your break. I’ll cover your tables for you.”

It takes a moment for Yuuri to process the implication. When he does, his face flushes. “I- I can’t presume.”

“It’s not presumption, mon ami. He hasn’t taken his eyes off you since you walked away.”

Yuuri stops breathing. The urge to turn and look for himself seizes hold of him hard, and he just barely tamps it down.

Nishigori moves toward them then. “What the hell, Chris? It’s a vampire.”

Christophe shrugs. “And I’m a witch and Yuuri can read minds and Phichit can turn into a dog. Your point?” 

The question renders Nishigori silent. As he scrambles for a response, Yuuri grabs the two drinks and turns from the bar. If he hadn’t been before, the man indeed watches him now. So too the rest of the restaurant. Their thoughts batter at Yuuri like bugs at a light. He focuses on the feel of the glasses in his hands, on the faint scent of the wine, on the pressure as he presses his lips together and the way that the man seems to glow beneath the lights, all blue, black, and silver. The world retreats again as Yuuri advances and the silence gradually returns, engulfing him, enveloping him as a blanket on a cold winter’s day, and he can’t help the sigh that escapes him as he reaches the booth.

“Here you go.” He sets the wine glass on the table before the man, who gifts him with another dazzling smile.

“Thank you.”

“Can I join you?” Yuuri asks before nerves drive him away. “Not for long. Just, you know, for my break. If that’s okay.”

“I would like that very much.”

Nodding, Yuuri sits. This close he spies the telltale tinge of red at the corners of the man’s eyes, the unbelievable smoothness of his pale, pale skin. If he had any doubts before that the man was a vampire, he wouldn’t now, but that’s not the thought that ratchets up Yuuri’s pulse, that has him gripping his glass and breathing fast. No, what does is the realization that this is, without a doubt, the most gorgeous man that Yuuri has ever seen, and only now does he wonder why the man is here, whether he’s planning on meeting anybody, if he’s here, perhaps, for a date.

“I’m sorry,” he says, preparing to stand. “I didn’t even think- You’re not meeting someone here, are you?”

The man shakes his head. “If I were, it would be pretty poor form to invite you to join me.”

Yuuri huffs out a soft laugh, but he relaxes in the seat. “Technically I invited myself.”

“I would have, if you hadn’t.” The man eyes Yuuri a moment, his curiosity clear, but Yuuri finds that he doesn’t chafe beneath it as he usually does, nothing else underlying the interest, no fear or disgust or outright abhorrence. Just interest, and despite the din surrounding them, Yuuri relaxes even more. “I’m Viktor, by the way.”

“Oh. I- Sorry. I’m Yuuri,” he says, his face heating with a blush. “But, uh, I guess you knew that already.” He gestures to the name tag pinned to his shirt. 

The man- Viktor- nods. He stares at Yuuri again, stoking the blush burning across his face, then he leans forward, his arms on the table and his air confidential. Pulse quickening, Yuuri matches his pose, easing forward until only a foot separates them. “Are you aware,” Viktor says, his voice smooth and low, “that everyone here is staring at us?”

Breathless, Yuuri nods.

“Is it just me?” Viktor asks. “Or is it me and you?” 

“Oh. Ah, both, I guess. You and, uh, me.”

Viktor regards him a moment before he leans back in the booth. “Interesting.”

“You’re, uh, you’re the first vampire to ever come to Yutopia, to Bon Temps probably, but, uh, you’re not- That’s not…” Yuuri pauses then and looks away, out the window to the parking lot beyond, away from the restaurant, from the crowd of onlookers that look and stare and gawk and judge as they have nearly every day of Yuuri’s life. His mouth goes flat a moment then he pulls in a deep breath and glances back at Viktor. “I don’t socialize much. Or at all. And everyone here is a regular, except you, so they’re probably more surprised by that, by me sitting here, I mean, than by you.”

Viktor only nods at the explanation. Though Yuuri too has leaned back, the distance does little to lessen the intensity of the moment. Viktor’s gaze does not waver from Yuuri; his eyes shine even in the soft light of the restaurant. For the first time in Yuuri’s life, he wishes that he knew what someone was thinking. Can he ask? Is that what people do, or would that be too forward? Uncertain, he lifts his glass and takes a drink of water. What had he been thinking, sitting here? He _hadn’t_ , that had been the problem. Dazzled by the silence, he hadn’t thought about the logistics of a conversation. And he should have. He couldn’t talk to people when he knew exactly what they were thinking. How the hell was he supposed to when he had no idea, when-

“Are you a fan of vampires, Yuuri?”

Yuuri fumbles his glass, nearly forgetting about Viktor in his conversational crisis. Carefully, he sets his glass down on the table. Only then does he remember the question. “No. I’m not.”

To that, Viktor arches a brow.

Why he does takes a long moment for Yuuri to understand. When it clicks, his face goes as hot as Nishigori’s grill, and he almost knocks over his glass a second time. “Oh god. I’m sorry. I- That was rude. I didn’t mean- I only meant that I’ve never really thought about them before. You before. Or not you specifically,” he says as Viktor raises his other brow, “since we, you know, just met, and I couldn’t have thought of you before. I only- I meant- Oh god…” 

Yuuri abandons his floundering explanation to bury his mortified face in his mortified hands. He expects Viktor to stand up and walk away now, having reached the same conclusion that everyone does when in a conversation with him. _Such a freak._ Yet Viktor doesn’t walk away. Rather, he laughs. And it’s not the scornful laughter that Yuuri heard so often in his youth or the unsettled laughter he hears when he reacts to something that someone has thought but hasn’t said. Instead, it’s Phichit’s laugh. It’s Christophe’s. It’s Mari’s and Minako’s and Yuuko’s. It’s one that’s amused _by_ him, not _at_ him. It’s soft and delighted and kind.

Yuuri lifts his head but immediately wishes that he hadn’t because, if Viktor had been gorgeous before simply sitting in the booth, now that he’s laughing, now that he lounges back, his body loose and lovely, he steals the breath right out of Yuuri’s chest and makes all the thoughts racing through his head just _stop._ Everything stops. The world narrows down to Viktor and the way that he laughs and all Yuuri can do is stare. 

“Oh, Yuuri,” Viktor says when his laughter begins to subside. “You don’t need to apologize. I’m not offended.” 

Yuuri lowers his hands back to the table. “You’re not?”

Viktor shakes his head. “I’m relieved actually.”

“Really?”

“Yes.” As Yuuri continues to stare, Viktor shrugs and reaches for his wine. “Most who willingly speak to a vampire have some sort of agenda. They seek our blood for the high. Or they want to be bitten, to be turned. Or they desire to die. Or for us to die,” he adds a second later.

“Oh. Well, I’m not any of those.” 

The smile returns to Viktor’s face. “No. I don’t think you are.” He leans forward then, his wine abandoned in favor of talking to Yuuri. “So you find me irresistibly handsome then? Is that it?”

Yuuri’s eyes go wide. “What? No. No, I- Oh god,” he whimpers, his face going hot once more as he realizes what he’s just said. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

Viktor arches a brow. His smile grows. “No?” 

“No. I mean, you _are_ ,” he says, his blush intensifying at the admission. “Handsome. But that’s not- That’s not why I talked to you.” 

Viktor’s smile turns wicked then. Shameless. “A pity. That’s why I talked to you.”

“Oh my _god_ ,” Yuuri moans. He buries his face in his hands again, yet the embarrassment that he feels quickly fades as he recalls the exact reason why he approached Viktor- the siren silence that he felt in his presence. It had been nothing about Viktor himself, not even how handsome he was. That had come second. The only thing that Yuuri had thought about at first was himself, what _he_ wanted. Nothing else. Nothing more. He had used Viktor, no consideration for his thoughts, only relief in finally being free from them.

Shame churning in his gut, Yuuri lowers his hands. He can’t even bring himself to look at Viktor, staring down at the table instead. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have- You were right. I had a reason and I’ll- I’ll go now.” Gaze still averted, Yuuri starts to slide from the booth.

Viktor reaches out for him. “Please don’t.”

Yuuri looks at his hand, hovering halfway across the table, and then, reluctantly, he looks at Viktor. 

When he does, Viktor lowers his hand. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Yuuri shakes his head. “You didn’t. I just…” He flounders, struggling to find something to say other than _I’m kind of crazy because I can hear other people’s thoughts, and you feel like silence, like peace, and that’s why I approached._ Nothing comes to mind though, so Yuuri stares, frozen, the proverbial deer in headlights.

Viktor regards him a few seconds before speaking. “What was your reason?” 

“What?”

“For approaching. You said before it wasn’t any of the usual reasons, so why did you?”

If possible, Yuuri freezes even more. He doesn’t want to lie and he knows he needs to explain, his behavior since he first approached undoubtedly bizarre to someone not in the know. But how could he explain why he approached, or how he approached, dazed and giggling like he was drunk or high? Everyone who knows the truth about him, save Christophe, Yuuri has known since he was young. And Phichit had been the one to tell Christophe, desperate for aid during one of Yuuri’s bad spells two years ago. It had been a hard and fast rule in his family that no one should know what Yuuri could do, everyone afraid that someone sinister would come along and find a way to use Yuuri’s abilities for something sinister. Yuuri doubts this is Viktor, but five minutes isn’t enough time to know, not for sure.

He’s saved from having to respond, though, by someone approaching the table. Yuuri looks up, expecting Christophe, but he finds Minako instead, glaring daggers at Viktor as she stops by the booth. Viktor turns to look at Minako too, only to freeze as he locks eyes with her. They stare at each other in silence then Viktor dips his head slowly in a nod.

“Hunter.”

Minako fists her hands. Her eyes do not deviate from Viktor. “Yuuri, go to the back. Now.”

He doesn’t. He looks back at Viktor instead, in time to see his lips thin, to see him duck his head and close his eyes. And Yuuri doesn’t need to imagine what Viktor has experienced to bring that look to his face. He experiences it every time he meets someone new and the inevitable moment of judgment comes. 

_that boy knows things he shouldn’t_

_fucking fangers_

_he’s possessed barbara i’m telling you_

_gotta get me some garlic tonight_

_freak katsuki_

_fucking fangers_

_satan has a hold of his soul_

Lifting his chin, Yuuri turns back to Minako. “No.”

Both Minako’s and Viktor’s eyes fly toward him. Minako gapes a beat before speaking. “Yuuri-”

“No. You wanted me to socialize more, so I am.”

Minako takes a moment to breathe out slow. “This isn’t what I meant. It’s a vampire-”

“He’s not an _it_ ,” Yuuri snaps. “He’s a he, and his name is Viktor and he invited me to sit and talk with him, and until he un-invites me, I’m not moving from this booth.”

Absolute silence reigns in the restaurant. Minako gapes again and, beyond her, so do the rest of the patrons, and Yuuri can’t stand it anymore, all of the gaping and gawking and whispering and gossip. “You know what,” he says as he stands. “Never mind. I think I will go home after all.”

Minako looses a long sigh. “Good. Now-”

“Would you walk me there?” Yuuri asks as he turns back toward Viktor.

Audible gasps sound around the restaurant, from Minako and from others, but Yuuri holds his stare with Viktor, who gazes up at him, his eyes wide.

“You probably shouldn’t,” he continues, his hands beginning to tremble. “Everyone thinks I’m crazy. Most of the time I think they’re right, but just once I wanted-” He breaks off, the anger that had been fueling him fading quickly, dampening beneath the dimming of another chance, of another hope dashed. Averting his gaze, Yuuri says, “I’m sorry. I-”

“Yes.”

His head whips back toward Viktor. “What?”

Viktor moves to the end of the booth. “I’ll walk you home.”

“You will?”

Viktor nods as he stands. 

“But…”

Viktor steps around Minako and stops in front of Yuuri. “Everyone thinks I’m going to murder them. I’m not, so I’ve lost faith in what everyone thinks over the years. I doubt now is going to prove the exception.”

Yuuri stares, doubting enough for the both of them, but desiring too, yearning and wanting and needing. The temptation of all proves too strong. Yuuri nods. Minako gasps and the whispers and judgments jumpstart all around, but Yuuri keeps his eyes on Viktor, who smiles. He watches as Viktor reaches for and pulls out a wallet from his back pocket, snagging a crisp $50 and laying it on the table by his still full wine glass. Before Yuuri can protest, Viktor is replacing his wallet and holding out an arm, and all he can do is sigh as he curls his hand around the smooth fabric of Viktor’s suit, as the quiet envelops him fully, the silence a sudden snowfall, cool and complete. Yuuri breathes deeply, freely. His eyes flutter shut again. He knows that he looks odd, strange and peculiar, but for once Yuuri doesn’t care. 

He can’t hear anyone else anyway, only the silence, only the beat of his heart and the soft, soft sigh that sounds beside him as he and Viktor start for the door.

*

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to [follow me on Tumblr](http://astreetcarnamedwynn.tumblr.com) if you'd like. :)


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